Okay to be forgotten when being known cuts your planning to the bone.

They never knew you had what they wanted because you bunted to first.

And while they admired themselves you stole your way to second and third.

Without a word they lost sight of your unimportance in the caramel shadows.

And the umpire jumped in fright as you thanked him for cleaning his plate.

And the bird with a tiny worm of a word taught you that your mind and face were

made to be absurd. Leaning in the leaf told the branch that it had been restraining

its growth. So much so that the trunk had been in a funk and refused to let the ant

reach the top side of the plant. When the hawk saw the stalk it longed to see the pitcher

balk, leaving the crowd to boo so loud that the runner for keep his foot upon the bag.

The dreaded tag. In a field made of sand, grit and mud the world longs for the greens

of grass and the sky looks down with a little cloud and a frown, knowing the little boy’s

pain each time he falls down. What does flood make of mud said the stone to the worm?

All washed away even the sun and the day leaving the sole fan in the stand with nothing

left to say. He watched and he waited and his quest was abated when the timekeeper

rang the bell and the horn for the day to be reborn. All took long breath, reviving as if from

hours of death with dogs and cokes in their hands they filled up the stands filled with song

and a long whistled sigh as the moments went by and their throats became dry waiting.

Play ball the ump shouted as Spring just begun surprising every one. We wanted no doubt

that the time and shout allowed all the the assumption that they knew what the moment in

Time had always been about. But reason esteemed as all collectively day dreamed for none

had seen the lightning above they fell out of love with the metal seats that occupied each

Space.